


The Pain of Memory Enhances the Joy of Tomorrow

by Softlight



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Does that count for graphic violence?, Laurent is sad, One day I'll write something where Laurent is happy, There's a dead body, today is not that day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softlight/pseuds/Softlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death was an all too familiar thief in his life.  His mother, his father, his brother.  All stolen in the matter of a year, gone only because Death coveted their bright, beautiful lives.  And once he took what he had wanted, all that Death left was him.</p>
<p>Auguste's death from Laurent's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pain of Memory Enhances the Joy of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who decided to do CaPri Week!!! Why I'm such an asshole to Laurent, no one knows. Maybe tomorrow will be happier for the Ice Prince…? Please enjoy!

Laurent could remember when his life splintered in pieces.  It hadn’t been a singular moment, but the build up of the unbearable, the unfathomable.  He could remember it all through the mist of memory, the fog of shock.  He remembered it as it happened, in segments and pieces.  

By the time his life was unrecognizable, Death was an all too familiar thief in his life.  His mother, his father, his brother.  All stolen in the matter of a year, gone only because Death coveted their bright, beautiful lives.  And once he took what he had wanted, all that Death left was him.

One doesn’t accept Death; that isn’t how it works.  One goes to Death kicking and screaming, or when there is nothing else left; when one sees no benefit in continuing their life, and nothing binds them there.  Death isn’t kind, no matter what all the stuffy old men told him after. 

He didn’t enjoy thinking about what happened, not a single person reveled in reliving the death of a loved one.  But on days when Laurent could feel the crushing loss in his very bones, reliving it was the only thing he could do.

* * *

 

_ He sat, restless, on a box.  Laurent had no sword, at least, not a true one.  Not like the one Auguste had.  He didn’t like swords, and he didn’t like that they hadn’t let him bring even one book.  It wasn’t like they were going to let him go to the battles, like he was going to do anything useful. _

_ He wanted to go home, to have the stupid war end and have Auguste to himself again.  His brother had been at the battlefront for weeks, if not months, and the palace was quiet without him.  Quiet without his family.  His uncle sometimes visited, when he wasn’t at the battlefield or wherever he went, but his uncle wasn’t the same as having his mother kiss him goodnight, or his father smile proudly, or Auguste riding with him for hours and hours. _

_ And that’s when the first piece of panic snapped into place. _

_ “They’ve been battling for the better part of the hour now, they won’t let anyone interfere.  Akielon soldiers are steering clear, and Auguste gave clear order; the Crown Prince was his.” _

_ “It’s quite a sight to behold, they’re perfectly matched.  I’ve never seen anything like it.” _

_ Panic slowly began to squeeze around his heart, and he could just begin to feel the confines of its circling trap. _

_ “What’s going on?  Where is Auguste?” he demanded, running over to the generals.  They looked at each other uneasily, as though they had forgotten he had been there.   _

_ “He’s fighting Prince Damianos.”  That was when the panic really started kicking in. _

_ “We have to get him out of there, now.”  One of the generals was silently declared to be the one to deal with him, and he knelt down to stare eye to eye with him.   _

_ “He’s fine, Laurent.  Auguste can hold his own.” _

_ “I have to be there for him!  I’m not going to let my brother face on the Akielon prince alone, he can’t!”  The generals started laughing, slapping him roughly on the shoulder. _

_ “If anyone could take down that mammoth, Auguste can.  He’s the best swordsman any of us have ever met, Laurent.  He will be fine.  It’s just another battle for him, another victory to claim.  Don’t worry.”  He batted their hands away, standing firm. _

_ “Either you take me to him, or I go on my own,” Laurent deadpanned, staring them down. _

_ The three generals instantly stopped laughing. _

_ “We’re under strict orders to keep you from the front lines, and we’re not about to break them under senseless worrying.  Stay here, and wait for Auguste to return.  He’ll be back soon.” _

_ He felt his throat close up in panic.  “You have to go to him, go check on him.  I can’t leave him there.” _

_ “What, doubting your brother that much?”  But it wasn’t that; it was something else, something that told him that it wasn’t right, that Auguste wasn’t okay. _

_ “Please,” he said quietly.   _

_ A different general knelt down beside him, eyes shining.  “I promise, I’ll go check on him if you stay here with these two knuckleheads here, okay?”  He nodded slowly, burning deep into the general’s gaze. _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ And he waited.  He waited, and waited, and waited.  He waited until it felt like time was simply toying with him, because no typical second could possibly be so long, and why wasn’t anyone telling him anything about Auguste? _

_ All around him, words swirled of his brother’s prowess; of how he was sure to destroy the Akielon prince with ease and come out all the stronger.  But no one new came into the camp, and soon their information grew old and unreliable.  He wondered how much it would take for him to get to the front lines to see, but knew that he wouldn’t make it five feet without someone catching him. _

_ And then he heard it. _

_ It wasn’t from a voice he knew, or a particularly special voice.  The voice wasn’t sweet or rough; wasn’t too high pitched or deep; wasn’t rumbly or smooth; it simply was, and it carried one message: _

_ “PRINCE AUGUSTE IS DEAD.” _

_ The shock paralyzed him, the denial hitting almost immediately.  Because, of course, that was a joke, a cruel trick.  Auguste wasn’t dead, because he couldn’t be dead, because he was his brother, because he was his only family left, because he was the only one who understood, because  _ he wasn’t dead _. _

_ The camp around him exploded, but he was stuck.  He couldn’t feel anything beyond the movement of his lungs, expanding and contracting more and more rapidly with every passing second.  His chest shook, but he wasn’t crying. _

_ Laurent was  _ laughing _. _

_ The shrill, hyper laughter exploded out of him, forcing his chest to rise and fall.  He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, because obviously, it was a joke.  It was a joke, all a joke, and Auguste had to be fine. _

_ He couldn’t imagine a world without his brother, so simply, that world didn’t exist.  That world was a  _ joke _. _

_ Tears began falling from his eyes, and he couldn’t stop them, and Auguste, for some reason, wasn’t there to wipe them away.  His ribs were starting to ache, voice raspy and shaky. _

_ He almost had himself fooled into his own private delusion when he saw some soldiers carrying in his brother into the camp. _

_ The only thing he was aware of was running to him, despite the voices around him screaming not to.  He just had to get to Auguste, prove that the lot of them were liar, and Auguste was fine. _

_ His brother was covered in blood.   _

_ His brother was covered in blood. _

_ His brother was covered in  _ blood _. _

_ His eyes, the ones they shared, stared aimlessly into the sky, unable to look away.  His blonde hair had come undone from its ties, and even that was soaked in scarlet.  From his chest exploded a star of red, marking the Crown Prince for what he was; dead. _

_ Laurent fell to his knees, unable to even breathe.  He couldn’t take his eyes off his brother, hesitant to touch him.  He slowly reached for his hand, hoping for some reaction, because it still wasn’t hitting. _

_ “Auguste?” he whispered.   _

_ His hand was warm, oddly warm, but it was solid.  It had no life to it, no sign of movement.  Laurent swallowed deeply, carefully placing the hand of Auguste’s chest. _

_ “Laurent, we have to move him,” a voice said gently.  He didn’t register it, completely paralyzed.   _

_ Hands began reaching for his brother, and that’s when he began screaming. _

_ “NO MAN TOUCHES HIM,” he shouted, ignoring the hiccups that accompanied his words.  “NOT A SINGLE ONE.” _

_ “Laurent-” _

_ “NO.” _

_ He shook, unable to touch his brother.  “This isn’t funny,” he whispered, tears slowly falling down his face.  Sobs overtook him suddenly, forcing awful shuddering cries out of him, leaving him gasping for air.   _

_ His hands shaking, he knew he had to close his brother’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch him again.  But the idea of having his brother stare aimlessly into the sky, of being forced to look into his dead eyes everytime he looked at him, churned his stomach enough that he could bring his trembling hands to his brother’s eyes as he closed them for the last time. _

_ There were soldiers circling around them, torn between respecting their fallen prince and obeying the new Crown Prince of Vere in his time of mourning.  He knew that he was crying in front of them, and as much as his cheeks heated, he couldn’t bring himself to care. _

_ For while they had lost a prince, a general, a friend even, he had a lost a brother. _

_ He stared long and hard at Auguste, lips quivering as grief shattered whatever will he had left over living through his parent’s deaths. _

_ “I’ll avenge you,” he swore softly, gently pressing his lips to his brother’s cold forehead.  “This won’t go unanswered.  I’ll avenge you, I promise, Auguste.  I promise.”  His voice cracked, and all he could do was sob. _

* * *

 

“Laurent?”  Thick arms slithered up and around his waist, finally resting at his collarbone as Damen pulled him in tight.  “You okay?”  He snapped out of his mind almost instantly, sinking into his husband’s warm embrace.

“Yeah, just thinking.”  Damen nuzzled his neck.

“About?”

He swallowed thickly, resting his head against Damen’s arms.  “I just miss my brother.  I just really miss him right now, for some reason.”  The words felt awkward in his mouth, but he forced them out.  Some things needed to be said.  “You know?  Some days it just…”

“It just hits.  I get it.  Do you need anything?”

“Keep on holding me.”  Laurent closed his eyes, and knew, without a doubt, that he was home.

Because Auguste wouldn’t want him to be angry, wouldn’t want him to kill for his sake.  He became someone else after Auguste died, and his brother wouldn’t have wanted Laurent to change like that.  Auguste was happiest when Laurent was happy.

And Laurent was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> A vaguely bittersweet ending is the happiest I get. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
